


Those Bowie Singing Chicks In Sweden

by TheGangHitsTheSlopes



Series: Romantic Rights Are All That We Got [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7868653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGangHitsTheSlopes/pseuds/TheGangHitsTheSlopes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamaki Takahiro starts university eager to get away from his parents and finally be his carefree self. Carefree, that is, until he sees how hot his roommate is. </p>
<p>(Matsumaki spinoff/prequel from the Unmarked universe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Those Damn Seduction Scientists

_That was the longest 3 hours and 57 minutes of my life._

 

After the additional 6 minutes accrued from scoping out parking in downtown Kyoto, Hanamaki Takahiro was sure he would die in this Honda.

 

“Takahiro, are you still asleep back there?” his mother’s voice seemed overly desperate for his affirmative response, making Hanamaki’s jaw clench.

 

“No,” he grumbled.

 

“Good, then out of the car we go.” His father didn’t wait for anyone’s response. He was already two meters away stretching out his arms by the time Hanamaki could unclick his seatbelt.

 

Hanamaki tried not to see his mother wipe the tears off of her face. He knew she didn’t want him to see it either, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d cried the whole car ride anyway.

 

“Alright, my college boy,” she turned back at him and smiled, the thin lines creasing around her steel gray eyes, “off we go!”

 

After suppressing a roll of his eyes, Hanamaki shoved the car door open with his entire body weight.

 

His mother got out of the car slowly, but her demeanor changed when she saw her husband approaching the nearby crosswalk.

 

She nearly sprinted to catch up with him. “Masaki, wait! Where are you going?”

 

“To the administrative building. I want to see exactly where all this money I’m spending is going toward.” He didn’t bother turning around.

 

“Don’t you want to help your son move into his new home?” her voice waivered near the end.

 

“Takahiro-kun,” Masaki looked over his shoulder, “Can you handle moving three suitcases by yourself.”

 

Hanamaki jammed his hands into his pants. “It might be quite the imposition, dear father.”

 

“You see that,” He turned to his wife, “he’s still a smartass, he’ll manage without me. Besides, Yuka, you’ll be there to micromanage everything as usual.”

 

Yuka gawked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

Before he could answer, Masaki’s phone rang. He answered it without hesitation, crossing the street as he did. He didn’t seem to mind the three almost accidents he nearly caused.

 

“Masaki! Just, unbelievable! Can you believe this Takahiro?” Hanamaki opened his mouth comically wide to answer her even though he knew his mother didn’t want him to. “He’s missing out on your big day! He doesn’t care that our baby boy is moving halfway across the country to start his new life! You know what, I’m going after him. Masaki!” 

 

She didn’t bother looking for cars as she dashed after her husband; luckily traffic was held up in the nearby intersection. Once Hanamaki saw that she caught up to his father he leaned back against the driver’s side door, eyeing the keys in the ignition.

 

He made eye contact with his reflection in the side mirror. “It’s only three hours from home if we speed, what do you say?”

 

The reflection had the same smirk, but Hanamaki didn’t like the look he saw in its eyes. He sighed, pushing himself off the door and opening it, taking the keys out of the ignition to unlock the trunk

 

One of the bags was a duffel, so he could sling that over his shoulder to free his hands for the other two. All of the bags were way too heavy, overstuffed with far too many articles of clothing, in Hanamaki’s opinion. He tried to reason with his mother weeks ago as she shoved yet another rolled up sweater into the mix, but to no avail. Now he regretted letting that fight go.

 

He tottered across the street while keeping the rolling bags level to the best of his ability. It wasn’t until he made it to the middle of the main campus quad that he realized he had no idea where he was going.

 

A bright voice rang out from behind him. “Are you lost?”

 

Hanamaki turned to see a tiny, spritely girl with large brown eyes staring up at him.She was cute; she almost looked like the girl in those new skincare ads. And she was definitely sizing Hanamaki up.

 

“What gave me away, the blank stare or the truck load of possession I’m lugging?”

 

She laughed a little too hard. “Both. Which residence hall are you in?”

 

“Hashimoto.”

 

“Oh?” Her voice picked up another couple of notches. “I’m in Ginryuu! Hashimoto is our brother dorm

 

“What a lucky coincidence!” Hanamaki hoped the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t too obvious.

 

“I know!” Apparently it wasn’t. “Well, I can take you over there if you want, where are your parents?”

 

“They’re doing some office stuff right now, I told them to just call me when they were done.” Lying about his parents was second nature by now.

 

She scrunched her eyebrows together. “Oh, okay, well at least let me help with one of your bags.”

 

“Hey—be careful, they’re hea—“ she grabbed one of the handles and pulled, and the unexpected weight nearly jerked her backwards.

 

“Oh my god,” her voice dropped a little lower, losing its extra feminine edge, “what’s in these, cement bricks?”

 

Hanamaki had to laugh. “You’d think so, but my mother is just very cautious about winter.”

 

“I’ll say,” she gritted her teeth and pulled the bag behind her with both hands.

 

Luckily, Hashimoto Hall wasn’t too far of a haul. Check-in with the resident advisor upon arrival revealed that Hanamaki’s room was on the first floor, so no stairs were necessary.

 

Hanamaki took back his bag from the now exhausted girl beside him. “Thanks for the help.”

 

“No problem,” she got the phrase out between pants. She flipped her hair, doubling her renewed feminine charm. “I’m Mizudera Natsue, by the way.”

 

“Hanamaki Takahiro.”

 

“Well, you go get settled in.” She lightly skipped through the threshold back into the sunlight and flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Hanamaki-kun!”

 

Once she was fully out of sight, Hanamaki chuckled bitterly to himself.

 

_She’s adorable. Too bad I’m gayer than Lance Bass._

 

The walk to the dorm room was embarrassingly tiring given the extra weight, and once Hanamaki opened the door he shed the bags dramatically onto the floor. Inside the room was pretty typical: two twin beds flanked with simple desks and wardrobes on each side, almost identical except for the doorway to the suite bathroom on the right side. Neither bed seemed to be claimed. Hanamaki nudged his duffel bag to the left enough to mark his territory and flopped face first onto the plastic covered mattress.

 

“Not going to bother with making your bed, Takahiro-kun?”

 

Hanamaki didn’t have to look up to know his father was standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a disapproving scowl.

 

“Eh, if I never put the sheets on I don’t have to take them off in ten months,” he mumbled into the mattress.

 

“Could you be serious for once?”

 

Hanamaki rolled on to his back and propped himself up on his elbows. “Who called you earlier?”

 

Masaki rolled his eyes. “The office.”

 

“Who from the office? Was it Rena?”

 

“Considering Tsuji-kun is my partner, yes, she called.”

 

“Partner? Wow, it’s pretty bold to announce it so casually like that.”

 

“Takahiro,” Masaki’s voice had dropped to an uncharacteristically low octave, “you need to watch your tone.”

 

Hanamaki let out a laugh. “Oh? My tone? That’s what the issue is, not the accusation?”

 

The dorm room suddenly felt ten times smaller as two of them locked eyes, refusing to break away or disturb the silence. This wasn’t the first time Hanamaki had alluded to his father’s unusually close relationship with his business partner, and every time his father didn’t give him an answer either way.

 

“Masaki!” his mother’s call caused both men to jump. She sounded out of breath, and when she finally entered the doorway it was obvious she’d just been running. “I told you to wait for me while I was in the bathroom!”

 

Masaki reached out and rested his hand on his wife’s back. “I’m sorry, Yuka, I wanted to make sure Takahiro-kun made his way to the dorms instead of boarding the next train to Tokyo.”

 

“Ah, but you see, father, I can always wait for you and mom to leave before making my grand escape to Harajuku.”

 

Yuka seemed to consider his statement for a brief moment before her gaze hardened on Hanamaki. “Takahiro, are you even going to bother making your bed?”

 

Hanamaki smiled in spite of himself. Sometimes it was easy to see how his parents were meant to be together in the grand cosmic sense of things. They were both particular, traditional, no nonsense individuals burdened with an eccentric, nonsensical son. They even have the same wrinkle between their brows from scrutinizing Hanamaki’s schemes: another identical mark to forever bind them together.

 

“I’m liking the feel of this university-issued vinyl casing, so I might just forgo the sheets altogether.”

 

His mother and father sighed in unison. “Masaki, do something with your son.”

 

Masaki stretched out his arm, pushing up a sleeve to check his watch. “Well, it looks like I only have time for a light scolding.” He glared at his son from over his glasses. “You’re in college now. Try to take things seriously and grow up some.”

 

Hanamaki leapt off the bed and raised his arm in a salute. “Aye, aye, sir!”

 

Masaki shook his head and turned out of the room. “Yuka, I’ll be waiting in the car for you to finish your goodbyes.”

 

Before Yuka could interject or Masaki could fully exit, Hanamaki yelled out. “Be sure to say bye to Rena for me!”

 

Masaki only slightly faltered in his step, never breaking stride as he left the room. Hanamaki winced as he looked toward his mother who smiled at him seemingly unfazed.

 

“Takahiro,” she reached out and stroked the side of his face, “my baby boy, starting college, off on his own.”

 

“Mom, I wouldn’t put it past dad to leave you behind if you take too long.”

 

Her smile remained as she turned her face away, though her expression turned slightly bitter. “He is always in hurry isn’t he?”

 

When she looked back at Hanamaki, Yuka’s smile had vanished completely. Her eyes welled up with tears, and they seemed to be pleading with him. “Are you going to miss home at all?”

 

Hanamaki grabbed his mom and pulled her into a hug, mostly because he couldn’t stand looking at her like this. “Of course I will.” He let go of her and leaned back, relieved to see the eagerness had left from his mother’s eyes. “You underestimate my capacity for compassion.”

 

Yuka chuckled bitterly, raising her eyebrows in skepticism. “Well, like you said, your father would probably leave me behind if I stay too long, so I’m going to head out.”

 

She smoothed out her blazer before starting out the door. She hesitated slightly and turned back. “Please call.”

 

Hanamaki rolled his eyes. “I will call,” he groaned.

 

His mother smiled at him one last time before she walked away. Hanamaki waited until he couldn’t hear the clacking of running in high heels anymore before shutting the door to the hall.

 

Finally, _finally_ , Hanamaki didn’t have to spend every waking minute trying to exist within the pretense of normalcy his mother needed to survive. He’d always been cheeky, but the last month after graduating high school pushed him to his limit.

 

Masaki allegedly had a business trip the first week of March and couldn’t be there for the family celebration Yuka spent months planning. Yuka couldn’t make it to pick up the catering equipment she wanted to rent for the party, so she sent Hanamaki to pick it up. Conveniently, the caterers were located down the street from Hanamaki’s high school boyfriend, Yamazaki, so before heading back home the two of them met up for a final hook up before starting college.

 

It was on the way back that Hanamaki saw them. Yamazaki lived not only by the caterers but also by the apartment complex where Masaki’s business partner lived. It must have slipped Masaki’s mind that his son’s “friend” lived in the house up the hill from Rena’s place. At least, that’s what the shock on his face suggested when he saw his son post-car make out session. That was the only time Hanamaki’s father ever looked small to him. There was a brief moment where the power balance shifted dramatically between them; Hanamaki had the power to destroy his father’s life.

 

But of course, he didn’t. Hanamaki couldn’t hurt his mother like that, and when Masaki “returned” from the business trip, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the safety of his marriage. He sauntered in the house, proclaimed he was too tired for dinner, and retreated to the bedroom as if nothing had changed.

 

Maybe nothing did change. It was no secret to Hanamaki that his parents didn’t have the best relationship, despite the fact they were supposedly soulmates. The last time Hanamaki remembered his father telling his mom that he loved her was one morning before school in the second grade. His mother stopped saying it sometime during middle school.

 

Masaki and Yuka weren’t the most verbally affectionate people, but they didn’t look at each other the way other kids’ parents did. They didn’t look at each other the way Masaki looked at Rena in the apartment complex parking lot.

 

Hanamaki’s last month at home was a tense war with repressed aggression, but now it was finally over. Hanamaki was free from worrying about his mother or being trapped in a room with his father. He could do whatever he wanted with no consequences for anyone but himself.

 

That’s not to say Hanamaki wouldn’t miss anything from back home. The beach was a lot closer than it is now and he’d miss his old friends from high school, especially his teammates from the swim club. Especially Yamazaki. The two of them weren’t really serious or anything, Yamazaki was just seriously hot. Backstroke was definitely good to him.

 

Hanamaki shook the thought out of his head. Now was no time to think about his ex-boyfriend’s muscles. His new roommate could walk in at any minute and stumbling upon him jacking off would be kind of a bad first impression.

 

He started unpacking, but only the essentials. His clothes could stay in the suitcases until he wore them. Why bother putting everything in the wardrobe now just to take them back out again over time?

 

Instead he unloaded his laptop, his stereo and speakers, along with the stack of memorabilia CDs. All the greats: XTC, the soundtracks to Howl’s Moving Castle and Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (along with half of David Bowie’s entire discography), and the first CD he’d ever burned, full of a bunch of popular American songs at the time as well as 80s hits.

 

And he did end up making his bed—but just so his roommate wouldn’t think he was a weirdo with a vinyl fetish.

 

_In all fairness, he could have a vinyl fetish, ooh, or a scat-play kink._

 

Hanamaki grimaced. Maybe he should stop watching so much porn.

 

The last item in his bag was the miniature disco ball he won at the arcade a few days before. His side of the room didn’t look too different from before, just as if a very tidy drifter with decent access to technology decided to crash there for a few days.

 

Now, what was a drifter to do with his newfound solitude? He could be responsible and set up the wi-fi on his laptop along with his school email account, maybe walk around campus and see where his classes are, meet some other students, etc.

 

_Lol, yeah right._

 

There was allegedly a pool on campus, but “on campus” really meant three city blocks away, i.e. way too far. Plus he ran the risk of running into a tall, dark-haired boy with sleepy eyes whose resemblance to Yamazaki would set off a Pavlovian response in his speedo. And he’d never mastered the rudder technique.

 

Pavlov’s dog already seemed at attention within his sweatpants anyway.

 

_Damn, three weeks without getting laid and I’m already this eager?_

 

It seemed the masturbation evasion plan was shot; it was time for plan B. The bathroom was always relatively safe at home; maybe it could serve as a safe haven at Imadegawa Uni. Hanamaki grabbed his shower caddy—the Ziploc bag his mother packed his shampoo and soap in—with a towel and dashed into the bathroom.

 

It looked like his suitemates hadn’t had a chance to get in there yet; there was no shower curtain or toilet paper on the roll. Just perfect.

 

Hanamaki locked the door back to his room and to the adjoining dorm before setting up camp. He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and opened the radio app. It was always good to have extra cover noise.

 

His clothes hit the floor with an effortless quickness acquired over years of stripping down for swim practice. He turned the water on and gave it a few seconds to heat up before stepping inside.

 

Maybe it was the additional perversion of the setting combined with the anticipation of a possibly grueling dry spell, but Hanamaki found himself coming before the first song ended. He toed the embarrassing evidence along the tiled shower floor and down the drain. Now that business had been taken care of, he could really enjoy himself.

 

Hanamaki loved showers. There was something about the steam-filled room, the complete muscle relaxation, and the potential for complete dissociation that could keep him holed up for the better part of an hour. And now that he had an accompanying soundtrack, who knew how long he could be in there. Hopefully none of his suitemates would show up in desperate need to pee any time soon.

 

He was just about to call it quits when it came on—that old Katy Perry song Hanamaki couldn’t help singing along to even though he’d never kissed a girl and would most definitely not like it if he ever did.

 

He shut off the water and began drying himself off in time with the song, lifting his voice to the highest register possible, mimicking the syllables of the English in the verses before belting out the chorus he’d embarrassingly memorized.

 

He wrapped the towel loosely around his waist and scooped his clothes up off the floor, plopping his phone on top of the pile. He closed the app, but continued the song on his own as he danced back into his room and over to his bed.

 

Hanamaki nearly unsheathed himself from the towel before he saw the new suitcase sitting to the right of the door. His voice stopped completely in his throat. His head spun around, the lingering drops of water flying off the tips of his hair.

 

“Oh please, don’t stop on my account.”

 

The mellow tenor voice didn’t quite match the hulking figure sprawled across the second twin bed. And it definitely didn’t match those eyebrows.

 

But Hanamaki couldn’t show weakness now, even if he was caught in this vulnerable position: butt-naked save for a towel, his horrible Katy Perry impression out in the open. That was a level-three friendship sort of thing.

 

“Please, buy me dinner first,” Hanamaki scoffed, thankful for years of experience in parentally induced improvisation.

 

The boy on the bed cocked one of his impressive brows. “But Ms. Perry, we just want you to finish the song.”

 

Hanamaki had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling. “As a platinum status recording artist, I require at least meager compensation. Far beyond your reach, college boy.” He mimed flipping long, neon blue hair for emphasis.

 

“Oh, shit!” the boy on the bed crumbled into laughter, and Hanamaki noted that it was a very nice laugh. “Am I rooming with a theater major or something?”

 

Hanamaki finally allowed his poker face to dissolve. “Nah, man, accounting.”

 

“Ew, seriously? Are you gonna be one of those boring fucks who studies all the time?”

 

“Yep, but I’ll do it mostly naked while impersonating American pop stars.”

 

The boy made a face, something between a grimace and a smile. Hanamaki didn’t give himself enough time to decipher it—he didn’t want to get caught staring.

 

“Alright, that’s cool with me.” He rose off the bed. Damn, he was tall.And broad. “I’m Matsukawa.”

 

Hanamaki extended his hand. “Hanamaki Takahiro”

 

“Damn, first and last name?” Matsukawa took Hanamaki’s hand between both of his, bowing slightly. “How professional.”

 

“Comes with the territory,” Hanamaki mumbled off-handedly, trying not to marvel at the size of the hands surrounding his. He was definitely staring now. “What’s your major?”

 

“Film.”

 

_He’s not letting go of my hand, oh god._

 

“Should I expect a bad smoking habit and horrible movie nights once a week?’

 

Matsukawa didn’t miss a beat. “The smoking is scheduled for next year and I’m gonna make you watch Pulp Fiction so many times you’ll start to believe you’re John Travolta.” He brandished the statement with a lopsided smirk.

 

_Oh no._

 

“Uma Thurman or no dice.”

 

“You’ve already seen it?” Matsukawa let go of Hanamaki’s hands to place his own over his chest. “Be still my heart, Makki.”

 

_Makki_. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_.

 

“I’ve seen a gifset, _Mattsun_.”

 

Matsukawa laughed—it was such a nice laugh—and nodded to himself. “Well played, Makki. You’re cool, bro, this year is gonna be awesome.”

 

_-Gay guys say ‘bro,’ it’s okay. -We don’t know for sure he’s not straight, though. -He could be bi too, don’t forget._

 

Hanamaki couldn’t be certain what his response was—he just knew it made Matuskawa chuckle and turn back to his bed to give him some privacy. Which was great considering the growing problem taking shape under his bath towel. 

 

He turned to face the opposite corner of the room, peeling the towel off delicately over his half hard-on. Why did this guy have to be so tall, and so broad, with the messy dark hair and the sleepy eyes? It’s like some evil seduction scientist created the ultimate weapon to combat Hanamaki’s self-restraint.

 

Hanamaki glanced back as inconspicuously as he could. Matsukawa had returned his attention to his laptop, reclined back against the wall and absent-mindedly chewing on his bottom lip. Hanamaki barely suppressed a full-body shudder.

 

Matsukawa glanced up, his eyes locking with Hanamaki’s. “Oh, yo, bro?”

 

Hanamaki nearly jumped out of his skin. He kept his body facing the opposite direction of the hot roommate. “Yeah, man?”

 

“I meant to tell you earlier, but I was thrown off by the concert. My parents are swinging by later to drop off some more stuff for the room, like a fridge and a tv—is that cool?”

 

Hanamaki turned his head to assess the room the best he could without revealing himself. “Will it fit in here? Space is pretty tight.”

 

Matsukawa laughed again, and this time he sounded a little embarrassed. “Um, yeah it’ll fit. We measured stuff while you were competing for the ‘World’s Longest Shower’ title. But, uh, that’s not a problem right? That my parents are buying more stuff for the room?”

 

“No, no, that’s fine. The world’s longest shower comment, however…”

 

“Oh, get over it, Ms. Perry, don’t turn into Cher on me.” He finished the sentence with a chuckle and a mischievous grin that sent chills down Hanamaki’s spine.

 

_Oh, shit, he’s perfect._

 

Hanamaki took a deep breath and desperately wished he could return to the bathroom without raising suspicion.

 

Instead, he settled for a mantra.

 

_I will not fuck my roommate_.

 


	2. Those Nagging Gut Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first two months of university have been nothing but good times for new pals Hanamaki and Matsukawa, but just one day with a few chance events may have left Hanamaki completely blindsided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very much a ghost lately, but I'm trying to become one that haunts regularly!
> 
> (Also smut starts in this chapter. Making good on my promise faster in this fic than in Unmarked)

“Yo, makki, check this one out!”

 

Matsukawa could barely get the words out between bouts of choked laughter. Hanamaki put the pencil back in his textbook as a bookmark and rolled over to see what Matsukawa was so excited about. I didn’t take the full six seconds of the video for Hanamaki to snort, burying his face in Matsukawa’s shoulder.

 

“H-How… how did he… think that was a good idea…” Hanamaki struggled to speak himself.

 

“Apparently the allure of scientific experimentation was too powerful,” Matsukawa mused, turning his head to face Hanamaki.

 

The two of them were so close; Hanamaki could still feel Matsukawa’s breath on his face after they’d both calmed down. He didn’t shrink away, though. He hadn’t felt the need to in a while.

 

It’d been two months since they met and any presumed awkwardness from that first encounter had failed to come to fruition. Instead, it seemed to have brought them closer than Hanamaki could have hoped for. The first night went by quietly, but the next morning Hanamaki was woken up by Matsukawa’s alarm—set to Katy Perry’s “I Kissed A Girl.” When Hanamaki sang along with the alarm, Matsukawa couldn’t pretend to sleep anymore and gave in to his fit of laughter. He joined in the song and the two of them kept up the performance until their suitemates stormed into the room in a blind rage.

 

It was almost like love at first sight but without the gag-worthy romantic clichés. Hanamaki had never gotten along so well with another person before, no one had so easily fallen in with his bits, or successfully one-uped him in a pun contest, or accused him of being the ugly character in every tv show so endearingly.

 

Okay. So maybe Hanamaki still had a bit of a crush on his roommate. But he had decided to deal with it for the sake of their friendship. Because despite how hot Matsukawa was, Hanamaki didn’t want to screw up what they had just for a chance to get laid. Where else would he find such a good study partner?

 

“Mattsun?” Hanamaki mumbled. “What time is it?”

 

“Summertime.”

 

“No.”

 

Matsukawa leaned away before belting the rest of the chorus of the High School Musical 2 opening number.

 

“Are you done?”

 

“Makki, I’m sorry, did you want to be Troy this time?”

 

Hanamaki bit the inside of his cheek to maintain his composure. “Don’t you have class soon?”

 

“Ugh,” Matsukawa groaned, rolling away from Hanamaki over to the edge of his bedframe, crushing the wet towels strewn across the floor under his weight. “What are you, my mom?”

 

“If you flunk out I have to get a new roommate and that means goodbye tv, goodbye xbox, goodbye mini-fridge—“

 

Matsukawa was on his feet in an instant. Before he knew it, Hanamaki felt himself pinned down underneath Matsukawa’s impressive frame. “Makki, makki, you are quite the materialist.”

 

Hanamaki struggled to find his breath. “I like things, Mattsun. Things are forever. Like diamonds.”

 

“Well, Mr. Bond, in the event of my untimely departure from this dormitory I shall entrust to you all of my earthly possessions. All of them. Even the stuff in the estate.”

 

“Oho, the estate.” It was weak, but it was the best Hanamaki could muster given the proximity of Matsukawa’s hips to his.

 

“Is that alright with you, Mr. Bond?” Matsukawa leaned in closer, “All my possessions?”

 

“Are you supposed to be Blofeld or Tiffany Case right now?”

 

Matsukawa released his grip on Hanamaki’s shoulders and sat back beside him. “Damn, Makki, I’m never gonna get used to how fast you pick things up. Bond week was so long ago, and we hit the Connery’s pretty early.”

 

“Yeah, well, I am on a scholarship so I must be good at studying,” Hanamaki shrugged, crossing his legs enough to hide his hard-on.

 

“And I’m just a trust fund boy so studying doesn’t matter to me?” Matsukawa mused.

 

“Hey, you said it, not me.” Hanamaki pulled his textbook onto his lap for good measure. Normally he’d chastise Matsukawa’s insecurity about his family’s wealth, but right now he didn’t have the luxury of time. “Besides, you study your film stuff more than enough. Going to class, however…”

 

Matsukawa groaned. “Class is so boring though. No one is as fun as you.”

 

_This fucking asshole gotta know what he’s doing. MAKE HIM LEAVE._

 

“It’s the college experience, Mattsun. Go to class, make new friends, straddle your roommate, apparently.”

 

“I think you’ve failed on that last part, Makki.”

 

_For the love of god._

 

“Tell you what, you check off ‘go to class’ and I’ll check off the light sexual harassment.”

 

Matsukawa chuckled, finally rising to his feet. “I’ll hold you to it. Literally in this case, I guess.”

 

As he turned to grab some books from his desk, Hanamaki seized the opportunity to climb onto his bed, strategically positioning his books and blanket for maximum boner shielding efficiency.

 

Matsukawa slung the messenger bag over his shoulder, looking back to Hanamaki before he left. “I’ll be off then.”

 

“Bring back a full report of your day, sweetie,” Hanamaki chimed, hoping to sell the ‘child goes off to school’ bit.

 

“Yes, mooommm,” Matsukawa sang back, an indication the joke had landed.

 

He shut the door behind him and Hanamaki counted to ten in his head before springing to action.

 

He threw the blanket off the bed, letting the books and pens clatter on the ground as well, and glared at his erection, standing at full attention.

 

“Listen,” he growled, “You seriously need to cool it. I know it’s been a while, but come on, man, we can’t have our roommate thinking that we’re a pervert.”

 

_Said the man talking to his dick_

 

“Gahh!” Hanamaki threw himself back onto the mattress; pressing his hands so hard to his face it was as if he was trying to break right through his skull to the pillow.

 

Lightly in the background, a steady stream of water came on, followed by the faint beats of AKB48. Damn, the bathroom’s taken.

 

Hanamaki could wait, but he had class in an hour, and his suitemate had proven himself to be just as fond of showers as he was. He could be quick if he needed to be but then the whole process would be rushed, and he definitely wouldn’t have time to go to the convenience store before class.

 

At any rate, the problem at hand needed to be addressed. This hard-on wasn’t going to go away by itself, especially when the room smelled so much like Matsukawa.

 

“No, no, okay, focus…” Hanamaki whispered to himself. He closed his eyes and relaxed. “This is just like high school.”

 

He started out by tracing the upper boundary of his waistband, tugging but not quite pulling it down. Yamazaki would always strip him down right away, but sometimes teasing and extra indulgence were more rewarding in the long run.

 

When he finally pushed the boxers down past the swell of his ass, he nearly sighed with relief. He was already pretty turned on at this point, the head of his cock was an angry red and a bubble of precum was just forming at the tip.

 

His eyes fluttering, Hanamaki took a hold of himself and slowly began pumping. He winced at the contact, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. The physical sensations were good enough on their own, but not enough for Hanamaki to come satisfied.

 

He started to picture the swim club locker room, with the dark concrete walls and ugly green lockers. After practice the sun was usually pretty low in the sky, allowing for the light to filter in through the blinds in bright orange streaks. They’d always get caught in the beads of water rolling down Yamazaki’s back, sparkling and dancing like little crabs on the sand.

 

Yamazaki took his time changing. He’d make sure to stretch his shoulders, paying careful attention to the directions from his physical therapist. God, his muscles would ripple, sending the water droplets in a frenzied cascade. He’d huff on his breathing counts, always grunting softly, subconsciously, when switching arms.

 

Hanamaki’s breathing was growing ragged now. The precum coated the length of his shaft, making vulgar sounds with each pass of his hand. His idle hand found its way to his chest, raking his nails across the smooth skin out to his nipples.

 

The first time he and Yamazaki ever kissed was in that club room and shortly after the two of them ran back to Hanamaki’s house for more. Yamazaki was brusque and eager with his actions, but never overly rough. More like he was completely consumed by lust and his body acted on wild impulse.

 

Hanamaki loved going down on him. Yamazaki had the biggest dick he’d seen outside of some crazy fetish porn sites. But the one time Yamazaki went down on him was a next level experience. The wet heat of his mouth, the way he gripped Hanamaki’s thigh in one hand and ass in the other.

 

Yamazaki kept his tongue flat along the bottom of the shaft closer to the base but would point and flick his head as he pulled back. The variation in sensations nearly made Hanamaki’s head explode and he tried to mimic the experience by changing up the pressure of his grip.

 

When he was close to coming, Yamazaki growled around his cock, commanding Hanamaki to look at him. The eye contact was so intense. His eyes, usually so soft and heavy with sleep, burned with something feral. At the time Hanamaki came instantly, but now he imagined the situation going further.

 

His hips were bucking up off the mattress into his hand. He needed just a bit more to take this fantasy all the way to orgasm.

 

He imagined reaching down and running his fingers through that thick black hair and gripping tight, feeling the vibration of that muddy tenor voice buzzing around him. He wanted the heat of that tall, massive body pressed between his legs.

 

But still, still he needed something more, just a little bit more to push him over the edge. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes pinched tight squeezing tears down his cheeks. He needed more, more of this moment, more than what the memory of Yamazaki could give him.

 

And that’s when he smelled the musk. The faint, damp aroma of expensive men’s shampoo and designer cologne scented body wash rising from the towels on the floor.

 

His back arched off the bed. In his mind, his fingers tightened in the mass of hair, embedded in the soft curls. The sleepy eyes opened again, dark brown instead of blue. And his voice was less commanding and much more playful.

 

_Are you gonna come, Makki?_

 

Hanamaki covered his mouth just in time to muffle his scream. “Fuck! Mattsun!”

 

He came hard, with thick heavy ropes of cum spilling beyond his hand up his stomach onto his chest. His whole body vibrated in the aftershock, drenched in sweat, before falling limp and lifeless as a corpse in the ocean. Hanamaki hadn’t come that hard since that last time he had actual sex, and honestly this orgasm may have been better than that.

 

As his breathing leveled out and the thud of his pulse dulled in his ears, Hanamaki slowly came to realize the minor detail he failed to fight off in this fantasy: the detail that made the experience fully satisfying.

 

_Fuck._

_\-------------------------_

 

After cleaning up the unexpectedly large mess from his self-care session, Hanamaki had to sprint across campus in order to reach the convenience store in a timely manner.

 

As he descended the stairs he noticed two surprisingly familiar faces talking pretty animatedly right outside the store. Overly animated.

 

“Ah, Hanamaki-kun!” The girl greeted him abruptly, peering around her tall conversation partner.

_Shit, shit, what was her name? It was ‘mizu’ something, right? Something religious, ‘mizukami?’_

 

Hanamaki decided to play it off and hope for the best. “Oh hey there, it’s been a while.”

 

“Ah, Makki, you know Mizudera-san too?” Matsukawa finally turned to face him; his expression suggesting that he could totally tell Hanamaki didn’t know the poor girl’s name.

 

“Yeah, she was my moving day savior, helped me drag 40 kilos of clothing across campus.”

 

“Mm, impressive, Mizudera-san,” Matsukawa turned back to her, doing that squinty-eyed smolder that always made Hanamaki’s heart skip a beat. Apparently it had the same effect on Mizudera. “I wish you were there to help me move in too, no fair that my roomie got all the aid.”

 

“Oh?” Mizudera blinked in surprise, the blush still spreading across her face. “Matsukawa-kun, you and Hanamaki-kun are roommates?”

 

Matsukawa threw his arm around Hanamaki. “Yeah, me and Makki are roommates and best buds.”

 

_Best Buds. You just came hard thinking about your ‘best bud.’_

 

Mizudera laughed. “How come I never see you two on campus?”

 

“Makki studies all the time and I feel compelled to stay in there with him so he doesn’t lose all social contact.”

 

“How considerate,” Makki grumbled.

 

“Well, you two should come to the education department’s movie night next Thursday!” Mizudera twirled the end of her hair. “Get both of you out of the dorm for a bit.”

 

Matsukawa chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do with this one.” He jerked his head, gesturing to Hanamaki.

 

“Well,” Hanamaki interrupted, “I need to get some coffee before class, so I’ll see you both later.”

 

He ducked out of Matsukawa’s hold and shuffled off as quickly as he could into the store.

 

Of course he and Matsukawa were just friends, he knew they were just friends, he _liked_ being friends with him. And he didn’t like him that much. It was physical. Mostly. But not romantic. Except sometimes. At night. And in the morning. And when Matsukawa would fall asleep during movie nights and his head would rest against Hanamaki.

 

Only then.

 

But still, seeing him giving someone else that slinky bodied attention hurt more than it should. And of course it would be for a woman.

 

 _He could still be bi_.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Hanamaki whispered to himself, eyes passing over the carton coffees without absorbing anything.

 

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

 

Hanamaki jumped, making Matsukawa laugh a little harder.

 

“Jesus, can you not?”

 

“Can I not what?” Matsukawa chuckled. “I wanted to talk to you alone but you scurried off like a cornered insect.”

 

“Lovely comparison,” Hanamaki scoffed.

 

Matsukawa sighed. “So, what do you think of Mizudera-san?”

 

_Too much vagina, not enough penis._

 

Hanamaki shrugged. “She seems nice enough.”

 

“Well yeah, but I mean what do you _think_ of her. You knew her first, so you have dibs—“

 

“She’s not chattel, there’s no dibs,” Hanamaki snapped.

 

Matsukawa stepped back. “Woah, I know that. Sorry, I was just checking. I don’t think women are like property or anything.”

 

“’Kay,” Hanamaki turned more of his attention to the cooler.

 

“So… you’re not into her?”

 

“No, Mattsun, I am not into her.”

 

Matsukawa leaned in, angling his body into Hanamaki’s view. “Why not?”

 

“Jesus, Mattsun,” Hanamaki rubbed his eyes, “I’m gonna be late for class.”

 

Matsukawa ignored him. “Is she not your type?”

 

Hanamaki let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Not even a little my type.”

 

“Ah, okay…” Matsukawa trailed off. For a second it looked like he wanted to say something more, but he decided against it.

 

Hanamaki grabbed the cheapest carton and spun on his heel. “If we’re done here, I’ll see you in the room later.”

 

He pushed passed Matsukawa on his way to the register with more force than necessary, but neither of them acknowledged it.

 

Why did it bother him so much that Matsukawa liked this girl? Did he really expect him to just sit around and not date anyone while Hanamaki pined after him? It was inevitable. It was college, Matsukawa was hot, these things are a given. But the reality of it was hard to swallow. For a while he had Matsukawa all to himself, even if it was on friendly terms, but the idea of having to share him with someone else burned a hole in Hanamaki’s gut.

 

_Fuckin, pull yourself together. You have calculus lab for the next hour and a half. You’ll need all the strength you can muster to handle that asshole of a lab partner._

_\----------------------------_

 

Hanamaki preferred calculus lecture to lab for so many reasons. Lecture was in a giant hall where he could sit off in the back. No real work had to be done in lecture; just note-taking and watching the professor’s shaky handwriting create limits on the old school projector.

 

And he didn’t have to talk to anyone. Especially not his assigned lab partner.

 

“Barely making it on time, Hanamaki?” The voice pierced Hanamaki with forced familiarity. “I thought for sure you were skipping.”

 

Hanamaki threw his bag on the desk as the professor walked into the room.

 

“Shut up, Daishou, I don’t have the energy for your shit today.”

 

Daishou stared at him wide-eyed for a second before his face contorted into the serpent-like squinting smile. “Oh, alright. Let’s have a good day then, okay?”

 

_Goddamn snake in the grass._

 

The professor gave a brief introduction about the day’s lab materials before passing the sheets off to the students and settling in at his desk.

 

When the papers finally reached the back row of tables, Hanamaki noticed Daishou staring at him again.

 

“What.”

 

Daishou narrowed his eyes. “You seem off today.”

 

“Oh, do I?” Hanamaki huffed, grabbing a packet before handing it off to his lab partner.

 

“Well, for one you’re talking more than usual.”

 

“Sorry, I’ll pipe down.”

 

Hanamaki kept his eyes on his work but he could feel Daishou sizing him up.

 

“Did something happen?” Daishou started to smirk, a dark glint flashing in his eyes.

 

“Daishou,” Hanamaki turned to him, “We’re gonna get in trouble if you keep talking, so shut up and do your math.”

 

“We’re supposed to work through the problems together,” Daishou reminded him.

 

“And that’s stupid because it’s fucking math.”

 

A cough in the front of the room stole Hanamaki’s attention. The room was filled with the low hum of whispered conversation, but the teaching assistant’s glare cut through to Hanamaki. Luckily, the professor himself was nearly deaf, but still it was best to avoid any unnecessary friction.

 

Which was why Hanamaki was so surprised at himself for going after Daishou in the first place.

 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Hanamaki whispered. “My roommate and I had a weird fight before class. I’ll stop being weird.”

 

Daishou laughed. “You can keep being weird, I just wanted to know why. Two months of monosyllabic conversation and suddenly you’re threatening me upon arrival.”

 

Hanamaki grunted in response and attempted to tune Daishou out by starting his assignment.

 

“It’s nice to see even cool headed Hanamaki is weak to the right provocation.”

 

“What the hell does that mean?” The attempt to tune out failed miserably.

 

“I’ve been trying to see what gets you riled up for weeks.” Daishou smiled, but each word came out more malicious than the last. “Incessant chatter seemed to be working the best at chipping away at your stoic façade. Maybe it did have some effect since you seem so irritated by me.”

 

“Who wants—who actively seeks out irritating someone?”

 

Daishou licked his lips. “When I see something strong, I want to break it.”

 

On that note, Hanamaki nearly dropped his pencil. Daishou looked completely serious, no falsely polite grin, no mocking laughter in his eyes. He looked predatory; not completely unlike a certain memory Hanamaki conjured up not long before.

 

“Uhh,” Hanamaki had never been at a loss for words like this before. Daishou’s face gave nothing away but he probably reveled in the faltering. “Thanks?”

 

Daishou cocked a brow and turned to his packet. “I’m not sure it’s a compliment.”

 

Hanamaki shifted uneasy in his seat. He knew Daishou was shifty; he’d butter up the professor while copying down exam questions behind his back, but this was something else entirely. Now he felt like he had just seen part of Daishou’s true character, and it was something darker than he expected. And for some reason Daishou had taken an interest in him, whether positively or negatively still proved unknown. But Hanamaki had a feeling for him it wouldn’t make much difference either way.

 

For the rest of the lab period, Daishou didn’t say another word—he didn’t even look at Hanamaki. The whole thing only made Hanamaki more uncomfortable, and the relative easiness of the equations didn’t provide enough of a consuming distraction from… whatever emotion this was.

 

When the teaching assistant announced the end of class, Hanamaki jumped a little in his seat. Daishou rose silently, sliding a torn piece of paper across the table.

 

Before Hanamaki could even ask, Daishou answered. “My mail address. Text me.”

 

And with that Daishou turned away, trailing his hand across Hanamaki’s shoulders as he passed, and walked out into the hall. Hanamaki sat stunned, staring at the strip of paper in front of him. Never in a million years would he think Daishou of all people would be into him, even as a game.

 

He slid everything on the table in front of him into his bag and started his journey back to the dorm.

 

_Well, if anything I’m not thinking about Mattsun anymore—_

Mattsun. He’d be back in the room, full of questions about their weird conversation in the convenience store earlier. He probably would want to talk more about that Mizu girl and dating in general. And now all Hanamaki wanted to do was tell Matsukawa about how the kid they dubbed ‘snake boy’ was potentially asking him out, but that could go down another slippery slope of awkward coming out and heartfelt confessions.

 

And Hanamaki wasn’t in a good headspace at the moment for all of that.

 

At the last minute Hanamaki veered east, changing his course to the library. He didn’t have anything he needed to work on with him, but that was fine. He could find something to do. Hell, he’d compile a comprehensive analysis on the building’s ceiling tiles if it would keep him away from Matsukawa for a few hours.

 --------------------------

 

Luckily, the library had a few of Hanamaki’s textbooks on hand so he could get some productive studying done for a while. All in the wrong notebook, but he could always transfer those over tonight in an attempt to evade Matsukawa’s interrogation.

 

The sun was starting to set as he rounded the last corner to the Hashimoto residence hall. He seemed to be the only student heading into the dorm instead of out. Maybe Mizu girl had a point when she chided his reclusive habits.

 

Hanamaki reached for the doorknob and nearly smacked into the door itself when it didn’t open. It was locked. Matsukawa wasn’t home.

 

That was reasonable, though, Matsukawa not being there. He could have felt the need to go out. Maybe when Hanamaki didn’t come back straight after class he took the opportunity to try new things.

 

_Like trying out the campus pussy—okay, okay, calm down. Jesus._

 

But Hanamaki couldn’t totally shake the jealousy. God, he’d spent hours trying to avoid the guy and now he’s mad that he’s not here?

 

“Make up your fucking mind, Takahiro,” he mumbled to himself in a not-so-flattering impression of his father’s voice.

 

Once inside the room was exactly how he had left it. His side of the room in perfect order while Matsukawa’s bed remained unmade, wet towels still strewn across the floor, flooding the room with his scent.

 

Hanamaki flung himself face first onto his bed in frustration. He was about to scream into his pillow right as the door opened again behind him.

 

“Oh, Makki, good, you’re back.”

 

The voice sent tremors down Hanamaki’s spine. Why did Matsukawa have this much of an effect on him.

 

“Yeah, I took—“ Hanamaki fumbled for a bit. He still couldn’t remember the girl’s name. “our lovely mutual friend’s advice and stayed out a bit. Kick the hermit habit.”

 

He felt Matsukawa plop down on the bed next to him. Worse, he felt him nudge the back of his thigh. “It’s ‘Mizudera,’ man. Learn some names.”

 

Hanamaki heard something crinkling but Matsukawa continued. “So where did you go on your big social adventure?”

 

“Library.”

 

“You animal.”

 

Hanamaki flipped over onto his back. “Baby steps, Mattsun. It’s no good if I overload myself and I end up more reclusive.”

 

Matsukawa laughed and passed Hanamaki a plastic bag. “Here. Consider it a peace offering.”

 

Hanamaki opened the bag to see all his favorite snacks, only sold by the Dawson’s convenience store chain, the closest one of which happened to be nine blocks off campus. Any semblance of frustration directed at Matsukawa quickly melted away and was replaced with a schoolgirl-like giddy affection: an equally dangerous emotion given the circumstance.

 

“Mattsun, you really didn’t have to do that.” Hanamaki hoped the higher register of his voice wasn’t too obvious.

 

Matsukawa shrugged. “A Dawson’s creampuff was the least I could do. I mean, obviously you were pissed off earlier and I thought it was because you may have had a thing for Mizudera but since you still can’t remember her name I don’t think that’s it.”

 

Hanamaki unwrapped said creampuff and started devouring it. “Yeah, nah, that’s not it.”

 

“Then what was bothering you?”

 

Hanamaki considered for a second. He locked eyes with Matsukawa who looked as casually concerned as only he could. Maybe there was a way to ease all the nagging emotions in his gut at once: by lying. A little.

 

“Snake boy asked me out.”

 

_Not a total lie. Just reordering events._

 

Matsukawa’s eyes bugged. “No shit? Calculus snake boy? The bastard wonder?”

 

Hanamaki nodded. “Yeah, and I was going to see him for the first time after he asked and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I was kind of on edge.”

 

“Makki, why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

 

Hanamaki braced himself. Time to go all in. “We haven’t really talked about dating and I didn’t know how you’d react.”

 

“React to what?” If Matsukawa was being coy, his expression concealed it.

 

“The fact that I’m gay.”

 

Hanamaki had run a few simulations of this conversation in his head, Matuskawa’s reaction ranged from ideal to ‘worst decision I ever made.’ Matsukawa’s actual response was decidedly in the middle.

 

“Oh, that’s why you’re not into Mizudera, okay,” Matsukawa laughed. “Man, she’s going to be so sad, she has kind of a thing for you.”

 

_Fucking. Stop bringing her up. She’s nothing._

“So, do you like snake boy?”

 

Hanamaki blinked. “What?” Matsukawa had to be kidding.

 

“Snake boy asked you out and you don’t know how to answer, so maybe you actually do want to go out with him.” There was no joking lilt in his voice.

 

“Snake boy is a manipulative, scheming kiss-ass.”

 

Matsukawa leaned back, giving Hanamaki just enough time to pull in his legs. “But your first reaction wasn’t to immediately turn him down, was it?”

 

Hanamaki didn’t like the insinuation in general, but more pressing was how much he disliked Matsukawa’s detached reasoning.

 

“Well, what do you think?” Hanamaki decided to push him. “Do you think I should go out with him?”

 

“Yeah, why not? I mean, you don’t flat out hate him and it’s college, the two of us really should start getting out more.” Matsukawa picked through the candy in the Dawson’s bag. Apparently he’d already been snacking on the way given the loose hi-chew at the bottom. “There’s no one else you’d rather go out with, right?”

 

_Fuck._

 

Hanamaki had two choices. He could confess now, or dig his own grave. And he had about a split second to make the decision.

 

“No, I guess not.” Grave dug.

 

Matsukawa tossed the hi-chew up in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Then it’s settled. You and snake boy can set the date.”

 

He rose off the bed and checked his phone. “Mizudera said something about meeting up with some people for dinner tonight. You want to come, Makki, or do you want me to just bring something back for you?”

 

The sudden change in conversation—back to that girl—hit Hanamaki like a slap in the face. “You don’t have to do that, I’m good with the creampuffs.”

 

“Leftovers it is,” Matsukawa breathed. He crossed the room and opened the wardrobe, taking out one of his nicer shirts to change into.

 

Usually Hanamaki looked away when Matsukawa changed, afraid the glance would turn to leering, which would then turn to drooling. Now he didn’t feel the need for prudence, his fate was sealed after all. Matsukawa didn’t seem any more affected by the conversation than he would if they were talking about Chinese checkers. He wasn’t repulsed, thank god, but he wasn’t happy or jealous either. Matsukawa would only see him as just a friend and that would never change.

 

And Hanamaki didn’t want things to change, or at least he thought he didn’t. But was he ever really comfortable with a friendship muddied with pining? Sure half the time he was ridiculously happy, but the other half of the time he was forcing his gaze away, pushing Matsukawa off him, or repressing his every physical instinct and emotional response. Maybe it just bothered him because it was a new experience. He’d never had a crush on a friend before, or a straight guy for that matter.

 

_Really, he could be bi… and really bad at communicating his feelings…_

 

Watching Matsukawa’s back muscles stretch and contract practically screamed at him to be hopeful. God, Matsukawa was fit. Basketball didn’t have that effect on the boys at Hanamaki’s high school. But then again, they didn’t have the same smooth, tanned skin that caught the light and shadows just right. They didn’t have the same coal black curls that looked soft enough to whisper sweet nothings after a night of hardcore banging.

 

Matsukawa pulled on the new button up, ending the back peep show, but he turned to face the mirror at an angle that allowed Hanamaki a view of the main stage. Of course Matsukawa’s abs were cut like a diamond. The divots were so deep and pronounced, especially as the muscles tapered into that ‘v’ leading into—

 

_Holy shit_

 

Hanamaki turned away fast, right as Matsukawa finished fastening the final button.

 

“Alright, I’m off. Text me if you need anything.”

 

“Uh-huh, sure,” Hanamaki mumbled, pretending to be suddenly captivated by his phone. In truth he could barely catch his breath.

 

After a few light steps, Hanamaki heard the door open and close, counted to ten as usual, then promptly began to freak out.

 

He’d only seen it for a second. Right along the juncture of Matsukawa’s abs and hipbone. On the left. Obscured by speed and half concealed by denim. But it very much looked like the head of a rooster with three exaggerated feathers right on top.

 

Hanamaki undid his shorts as fast as he could and slid them along with his boxers down to his knees.

 

He’d seen it so many times since the damn thing showed up that sometimes he forgot that the chicken on his inner thigh theoretically meant something. Speedos didn’t cover the mark, so his swim club had a lot of fun yelling at Hanamaki about his ‘second cock’ hanging out. If he was going to have a nonsense soulmate marking, why the hell did it have to be a stupid chicken?

 

Hanamaki traced the three long feathers atop its head, extending down his leg toward his knee. Surely he had to imagining things. There’s no way in hell anyone else had this ridiculous thing on their body, no matter what lore and convention held. In Hanamaki’s experience he’d seen that soulmates were poison, hindrances, or marriage traps that forced you to raise a salty kid for 18 years. He’d decided long ago his soulmate didn’t exist.

 

And that person that didn’t exist was certainly not Matsukawa.

 


	3. Those Best Case Scenario Gynecologists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanamaki decides to step up his "get over Matsukawa" game and things don't turn out as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly churning stuff out!
> 
> Also I write for justsportsimagines on tumblr with the lovely ConesOfDunshire, check it out for a slice of haikyuu scenarios!

It had been a week since Hanamaki had seen what appeared to be a chicken head mark on Matsukawa’s lower abdomen, and since then he’d made a damn near impressive effort to avoid seeing his roommate in any stage of undress.

 

That night he had done what he believed to be the most embarrassing thing in his life: worse than the time he decided it was cool to wear over-sized sweaters that looked like the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air threw up on them.

 

He did research. On soulmates.

 

Particularly, he frantically googled everything he could think of relating to soulmate markings, including variations in markings, prevalence of certain designs, and curiously the growing private investigation sector for finding and verifying perfect matches.

 

Ultimately he decided there was a chance Matsukawa had a matching mark, but that chance was decidedly low. Specifically hovering around one percent, after Hanamaki did the math. He’d only seen at most one-third of the marking in a quick glance, and partial or false matches were fairly common. It also didn’t help that Hanamaki downright pined after the guy, and potentially projected some sort of subconscious desire onto Matsukawa’s beautiful abs.

 

But the risk of any marking drama, match or not, coupled with the only intensified physical attraction after Hanamaki’s first jerk session made it too dangerous to catch a glimpse of anymore skin. Plus now that he was out he didn’t want Matsukawa to think he was scamming on him.

 

After Matsukawa’s initial lukewarm response the subject of Hanamaki’s sexuality never came up again. Had it been anyone else, the reaction would have been a better case scenario: he wasn’t hated or fetishized, ultimately a win. But it was Matsukawa and the confession didn’t draw out an echoed “Makki, I like guys too” which definitely stung.

 

Things between them hadn’t changed though, which was reassuring in a sense. Just the other night they binged real crime tv docudramas until Matsukawa fell asleep still seated in an upright position. Hanamaki balanced things on his head until he woke up, upsetting the precarious stack of a three DVDs, six pencils, and a banana.

 

And today they were having breakfast together in the cafeteria as part of a new Tuesday/Thursday tradition. A joint effort to be more social and a clever scheme concocted by Hanamaki to coerce Matsukawa into going to class. This would be their third breakfast, and for some reason Matsukawa seemed more enthusiastic than usual, as in he was enthusiastic, period.

 

“I have to say, Makki, this is a pretty good arrangement we have going here,” he chimed, setting down his tray with a playful bow, inviting Hanamaki to sit.

 

“Oh, is that so?”

 

“It is. See, now you get to make sure I go to class while I get to force you to eat something other than convenience store crap.” Matsukawa triumphantly shoveled a piece of omelet into his mouth. “Nutrition and education.”

 

Hanamaki smirked. “Aw, Mattsun, you’ll make such a good housewife.”

 

“All I need now is a good salaryman to take care of me, earn the money for me to spend.”

 

“Not too much on frivolous things now, okay?” Hanamaki droned in his best impression of his father.

 

“Okay, okay!” Matsukawa lilted, raising his voice as high as he could manage. “But, darling, it is Shou-kun’s birthday and he was eyeing new basketball shoes, but they are a little expensive.”

 

“Damn kid, he’s just going to outgrow them in a couple months. He can deal with secondhand until he’s a stable size.”

 

Matsukawa pouted. “Aww, you’re so stingy.”

 

Hanamaki crossed his arms and sighed. “Someone in the house needs to be. Just think of Shouto’s college tuition.”

 

“What a sensible husband I have,” Matsukawa sighed. The look on his face was soft and sincere enough to invoke an immediate shutdown of this bit.

 

It was time for an emergency escape non-sequitur.

 

“So, Mattsun, you’re in a good mood this morning. Not sulking into your soup writing sonnets about your bed.”

 

Matsukawa nodded in consideration. “You have a point, but while I do miss bed-chan dearly, it’s the 17th.”

 

There was a pause. Whatever Hanamaki was supposed to get from the date he clearly didn’t.

 

“Remember? Mizudera invited us to the education department’s movie night. I actually helped with the selection. They rejected _Scanners_ and _Election_ —both of which are coming up on our watchlist, by the way—but I got them to pick _Dead Poets Society_ over _Mr. Holland’s Opus_ , which is the greatest service I’ll ever do for this school.”

 

Oh yeah. That’s right. The girl. Matsukawa would remember that, and get involved, and go the extra mile. For the girl.

 

“Makki? You there?”

 

Hanamaki shook his head rapidly. “Yes, yes, sorry, I dozed off at the mention of Mr. Holland’s snooze fest.”

 

Matsukawa laughed, damn it, why did it have to be such a nice laugh? “Right? Anyway, we’re going tonight, right?”

 

“Um, yeah, I guess. Gotta make that effort to be social, right?”

 

“Please, Hanamaki-kun,” Matsukawa held up one hand and placed the other one over his heart, “Contain your enthusiasm.”

 

“Shut up,” Hanamaki chuckled, slapping Matsukawa’s raised hand out of the air. “Besides, Event Coordinator-san, you have class in like five minutes, you gotta go.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Matsukawa groaned, picking up his empty tray. Miraculously he’d eaten four bowls of food without Hanamaki noticing. “I’ll see you after you get out of calculus.”

 

“Ugh,” Hanamaki retched as he pushed away his practically untouched breakfast. “Limits and snakeboy, what a good time I’ll have.”

 

“Hey, at least it’s lecture, right?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. I’ll see you later.”

 

Matsukawa nodded and left Hanamaki to slowly implode. He had more or less agreed to wingman for Matsukawa, hadn’t he? And just exactly how long had Matsukawa been working with that girl on this event anyway, since she mentioned it? Why don’t they just go out already?

 

Hanamaki felt a lump form in his stomach. Maybe they already were. He didn’t see Matsukawa at all times, and they had been more “active” in the past week trying to get involved on campus—which for Hanamaki meant studying in the library and not talking to anyone. For all he knew Matsukawa and what’s-her-face could be engaged by now.

 

And what was all that crap with the housewife and the salaryman? Why did they do that bit it’s not like the two of them would ever go out, let alone get married? Of course Hanamaki started it, but still. It didn’t matter. Everything sucked, he couldn’t eat his breakfast and now he had to go to calculus and deal with the other elephant in the room.

 

Or maybe snake would be more accurate.

 

* * *

 

 

Along with not talking to Matsukawa about anything serious over the past week, Hanamaki had also been avoiding any conversation at all with Daishou. Of course he hadn’t texted him. Luckily labs were only on Tuesdays and the last Tuesday lab was cancelled due to a departmental meeting, so Hanamaki didn’t have to face him one-on-one.

 

The lecture hall was massive and over two hundred freshman packed the rows. Usually Hanamaki sat near the front—it helped with focus and his deteriorating eyesight. But today he was in a bad enough mood to hide out in the back rows, leaving his uptake of calculus up to osmosis.

 

Walking in right as class was about to start was Daishou, along with the professor. He was finessing him for some sort of information or upper hand, no doubt, pinching his eyes shut as he forced a brown-nosing smile. The professor smiled and dismissed Daishou off to his seat, which Hanamaki was surprised to find out was only two rows behind his usual spot. Also slightly off to the left, curiously giving a clear line of sight straight to the currently empty seat.

 

Daishou had alluded to giving him extra attention in their last conversation, but now Hanamaki was wondering just how much that really meant. Not to be narcissistic or anything, but Daishou hardly seemed like a front of the class kind of guy.

 

And as soon as the professor started talking and the weakly focused projector started shaking, all of Hanamaki’s hopes for osmosis learning went out the window.

 

Matsukawa was probably with that girl right now talking about their plans for tonight. What if he went back to her dorm, or worse what if he brought her back to their room? What if they were watching movies and Matsukawa was making the same dumb jokes about the ugly characters? What if she pouted and Matsukawa told her she was beautiful? What if he pinned her to the ground like a seductive Bond girl!?

 

Hanamaki’s stomach turned. Who could resist that kind of temptation, even if he’d done exactly that over the last two months? Matsukawa was just joking with him; Hanamaki couldn’t even imagine how intense his game would be when he tried.

 

What was the most disgusting was how hard it was for Hanamaki to get past. He’d had crushes before, he’d been rejected before, and hell, this time he wasn’t even being rejected outright. This time it was just too hard to stomach of another person touching Matsukawa when he never could.

 

But to be fair, Hanamaki wasn’t doing much to try to get over it, other than wallowing. And wallowing was lame. His drunk cousin Hiyori once said “the best way to get over a man is to get under another,” but Hanamaki wasn’t really familiar with the gay scene in Kyoto.

 

Well, other than one person.

 

Even from a distance, Hanamaki could tell Daishou looked bored, calculating, and exactly like someone he’d like to punch in the face. But he wasn’t ugly.

 

Actually, he could see how someone would be attracted to him. He had a sort of polished boy next door look with an obvious seedy underside. Exactly his drunk cousin Hiyori’s type.

 

And it’s not like he actually knew Daishou, he’d certainly gotten an impression of him, but he didn’t really try to get to know him. And maybe if he was desperate enough he could try. Hopefully not for the full ten months of Hanamaki’s anticipated purgatory, but enough to jump-start moving on.

 

Or just forgetting.

 

_Maybe he’s good in bed. He does have kind of a long tongue_.

 

Hanamaki wasn’t expecting it when class ended; he didn’t even notice until Daishou stood up and started gathering his things, which was also when he noticed he’d been staring for almost an hour. Quickly he grabbed his untouched backpack and raced to head off Daishou outside of the building.

 

Daishou looked surprised to see Hanamaki standing outside, but his mouth didn’t curl into the condescending, taunting smile Hanamaki expected.

 

“It’s unlike you to skip class, Hanamaki. And it’s poor practice to wait outside where you can get caught.”

 

Hanamaki smirked. “Ah, so you noticed? You really do keep tabs on me, ay Daishou?”

 

It felt mechanical and forced and definitely came off that way.

 

“Mind games are definitely not your forte,” Daishou sneered, turning away.

 

Hanamaki cut him off, desperate to seal the deal now before he changed his mind later and spent the rest of his freshman year listening to The Cure.

 

“It’s not a mind game, I sat in the back today.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve actually been thinking about, you know, what you told me the other week.”

 

Daishou raised an eyebrow, still unimpressed. “Oh?”

 

“Yeah, you said something about wanting to break strong things and then you gave me your number…”

 

“…And?”

 

“Was that an invitation to call you… if I want to be broken?”

 

Daishou burst into laughter, loud enough to not only embarrass Hanamaki but also fill him with an intense desire to punch him in the throat.

 

“That was the most uncomfortable come-on I’ve ever received,” Daishou laughed, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

 

“Sorry,” Hanamaki said through gritted teeth, “I won’t bother you anymore today.”

 

Before he could leave, Daishou spoke. “Was your phone broken?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why didn’t you call me? Or text? Or anything other than this ridiculous display of social awkwardness?”

 

Hanamaki pinched his face into a smile. “Oh, I just wanted to see your charming reaction in person.”

 

Daishou smoothed his hair back and bit his lip. Hanamaki felt uneasy again. “So, are you asking me out?”

 

“Tentatively.”

 

“Hm? Tentatively? What is your decision resting on?”

 

“Whether or not I get checked into in-patient services for being insane enough to ask you in the first place.”

 

“I think you’ll be safe for tonight then.” Daishou didn’t smile. Hanamaki couldn’t read him at all. It was more than discomforting, but compared to the idea of sitting in a dark classroom while Matsukawa felt up some girl next to him, snake boy was rapidly gaining appeal.

 

“Does seven work?”

 

Daishou smirked. “Sure, I’ll meet you by the South Gates, in front of the station. I’d say I’d text you, but I still don’t have your number.”

 

“I’ll send you something so you can get it,” Hanamaki grumbled, suddenly feeling skillfully manipulated.

 

“Alright, I’ll see you tonight.”

 

Matsukawa was surprisingly at his desk when Hanamaki returned. He’d pushed the pile of dirty clothes usually adorning the desk onto the floor to make room for his laptop and even a book.

 

“Wait, hold on. Mattsun studying? What’s next, is it gonna snow?”

 

Matsukawa laughed sarcastically. “I have a paper due tomorrow, for your information. I’m getting it done now since I obviously won’t have time tonight.”

 

Hanamaki ignored the drop in his stomach. “You’re real excited about this movie night, huh? You better be careful not to let your fanboy side out too much in front of strangers.”

 

“I think my nonexistent reputation is safe, thanks.” He closed the book and spun around in his chair. “There’s gonna be some food there, but I was thinking we could get dinner before so we’re not totally starving.”

 

“Uh, actually…” Hanamaki slumped his bag off onto his bed and locked his eyes on the straps like his life depended on it. “I’m not gonna make it tonight.”

 

Hanamaki hoped the exaggerated silence was only in his head as he tore open the zipper and began examining his notes.

 

“Why?”

 

“I, uh, I’m going out with Daishou tonight.”

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“You know, snake boy?”

 

There was that imaginary silence again, but Hanamaki was pretty sure this time it wasn’t completely in his head.

 

“You’re going out with him tonight?”

 

“Yeah, he asked me after class and we made that pact to get out more. Plus, like, how many more guys are gonna ask me out, you know?” Hanamaki chuckled at the end, hoping to soften the suddenly tense and constricting atmosphere in the room.

Matsukawa didn’t laugh. Hanamaki still hadn’t turned around. Surely Matsukawa wouldn’t be this mad that he’s canceling, right? And he was confident enough to not need a wingman. Plus if Matsukawa was gonna start dating whats-her-face he’d start blowing Hanamaki off too, so what difference did it make if Hanamaki started the trend?

 

“Okay, I guess I’ll get dinner by myself then.”

 

Hanamaki heard the laptop slam shut and the rattling of keys. He turned to see Matsukawa heading for the door.

 

“Wait, you’re leaving now? It’s only four.”

 

Matsukawa hesitated. In the two months since they started university, Hanamaki and Matsukawa had only missed dinner together once when Matsukawa went home for his mother’s birthday.

 

Finally he spoke. “Yeah, I think I’ll go home. Get some free food.” He turned his head back, but didn’t lift his eyes. “Do you want me to bring anything back for you? You’ve got the whole Matsukawa estate kitchen to choose from.”

 

“Uh, no, I think I’m good.”

 

“Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

 

Without another word, Matsukawa darted into the hallway and locked the door behind him leaving Hanamaki in fuzzy state of confusion.

 

Was Matuskawa upset? Nervous? Genuinely in the mood for free fancy food? Maybe he was private actually about relationships and wanted to keep both their dating lives separate.

 

At any rate, Hanamaki was on his own for the rest of the afternoon before his impulse date with Daishou.

 

“Yikes,” he muttered to himself, slouching down onto the floor.

 

Matsukawa’s laundry littered the whole dorm like the debris of a tornado that decimated Top Man and Burberry in its wake. Under normal circumstances, it might have annoyed Hanamaki, but for some reason Matsukawa’s thoughtless mess was endearing. It just felt like something comfortable and open. Plus it made the room smell like Matsukawa, which was a definite plus.

 

But Hanamaki knew that wasn’t such a good thing and that it would only continue to get worse. Tonight it was his resolve, his first step away from lusting after his best friend and forming healthier relationships all around.

 

Even if it was with Daishou, he’d make this date work in his favor. Somehow.

 

* * *

 

 

Daishou was waiting outside the station at 7 just like he promised. He’d changed since class into a pair of nice tapered pants, a v-neck green shirt rolled to the elbows and a slouchy vest. Hanamaki hated to admit it, but he looked pretty good.

 

Also he felt like an idiot, still wearing his Psychedelic Furs t-shirt and jeans from before.

 

And he definitely noticed the scrutinizing once over he received once Daishou saw him.

 

“Ah, Hanamaki, you showed. I’m a little surprised.”

 

“You expected me to stand you up?”

 

Daishou quirked a brow. “Well, you have a history of engaging and then ghosting on someone, so sorry for my being defensive.”

 

Hanamaki ignored the impulse to turn back to his apartment and swallowed back his annoyance. “So, where should we go?”

 

“Hm, you didn't even plan a date for me? Wow, I feel special.”

 

“How the hell am I supposed to know what you like? I only see you in calculus, should I take you to a derivatives café?”

 

To Hanamaki’s immense surprise, Daishou laughed. It was short and quiet, but most importantly, it was genuine. The way Daishou quickly looked away like he was embarrassed was almost—no.

 

_No way. He’s not at all in any way—holy crap, is he blushing?_

 

Hanamaki cleared his throat, suddenly feeling anxious. “So, where do you wanna go? We could get dinner, or something…”

 

“Hmm,” Daishou mused, pursing his lips. “Dinner sounds good—I mean, you are paying, right? Since you did ask me out after all.”

 

_This guy isn’t cute at all he’s a human hemorrhoid._

 

“Do you have anywhere in mind?” Hanamaki’s teeth were clenched so tight he was genuinely surprised any sound came out.

 

“There’s a pretty decent place by my apartment. It’s in Takatsuki, is that alright?”

 

_That means absolutely nothing to me._

 

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

 

The two of them took the subway to Kyoto Station wordlessly, only breaking the silence briefly so Daishou could explain the transfer to the JR line.

 

Once they arrived in Takatsuki, Hanamaki fell back to follow Daishou’s lead, cursing himself all the way. Daishou navigated the streets with ease, never once looking away from his phone. With each passing step Hanamaki realized how much of a mistake this evening was. He and Daishou had nothing to talk about. Every second was awkward and uncomfortable, and whenever Daishou said anything it was with an air of taunting and mocking that made Hanamaki want to push him into oncoming traffic.

 

_I wish I’d just gone to the movie thing with Mattsu—_

No, no, no. That line of thinking was dangerous. The second Hanamaki let himself yearn for Matsukawa’s company he’d throw away any progress toward getting over him. Hell, the date hadn’t even really started yet! He could at least eat something before deciding if the entire night was a bust.

 

“We’re here.”

 

Hanamaki nearly slammed into Daishou, who had stopped without warning in front of a discreet storefront off the main road.

 

“Jeez, you could give more warning before you just stop, you know.”

 

“Sorry,” Daishou rolled his eyes and assumed his cloying, suck-up voice. “We’re here now, Hanamaki-kun.”

 

Hanamaki felt his stomach turn over. “Never do that again.”

 

Daishou rolled his eyes again and pushed into the restaurant.

 

It was small, only six tables, and dimly lit, but it did smell incredible. A tiny hostess walked the two of them to the farthest booth and poured them tea before disappearing back to her stand.

Daishou took a sip of his tea and smoothed his hair before he started talking. “So, should we get it over with now or after dinner?”

 

Hanamaki blinked, confused. “Uh, get what over with?”

 

“Checking our markings.” Daishou pulled out his phone as he spoke. “Mine’s not in a very convenient place, so I have a photo of it here. What about you?”

 

“You want to compare our markings now?” Hanamaki attempted to keep his voice down, but he failed to stifle his shock.

 

“Well, yeah. That way we can see if this a casual hookup or something we’re going to have to deal with for a while.” Daishou looked up and practically hissed. “Oh, now don’t look too hopeful, you’ll embarrass yourself.”

 

Hanamaki winced, shaking the apparent grimace off his face. “Just—why do we have to do that right now? Is it really that important?”

 

“Oh let’s see, is it really that important to check whether or not we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together—I’d say yeah, it kind of is.”

 

“It’s just a little abrupt, right off the bat like this?”

 

Daishou shrugged. “That’s how we did it in my hometown—call it a countryfolk cultural phenomena.”

 

Hanamaki pounced on the opportunity to change the subject like a starving lion on a wounded gazelle. “Oh, where are you from?”

 

“Ueno.”

 

“Ueno…” Hanamaki racked his brain. “Like in Tokyo?”

 

“No,” Daishou looked away. “Ueno, Gunma.”

 

“Oh, I’ve never heard of it.”

 

“Yeah, it’s a pretty small town.” Daishou rested his chin in his hand, almost obscuring his expression entirely.

 

“Did you live there up until now? Kyoto must have been a big adjustment.”

 

“Actually I went to high school in Tokyo, so compared to the two going to school in Kyoto is more like a happy medium.”

 

The waiter interrupted whatever mood started to form between them to take their orders. Hanamaki hoped to resume his conversation with this softer, palatable Daishou, but his hope was unfulfilled.

 

“So, where is your marking? I’ve seen you wear t-shirts, so I know it’s not on your arms—or your neck. Maybe you want to show me later, since we’re so close to my apartment—“

 

“It’s on my inner thigh, and it’s a chicken with a huge head with three feathers on top.”

 

Daishou’s piercing eyes practically sliced Hanamaki’s head in two. “Are you lying to me?”

 

“Why would I make up something so ridiculous?”

 

“Because you’re Hanamaki Takahiro.”

 

“Okay, you got me there…” Hanamaki trailed off. He needed to think of some way to convince Daishou he was being honest that didn’t involve stripping down in front of him. “I was on the swim team in high school, I can look up some pictures maybe—you can kind of see it since, you know, speedos.”

 

Daishou sighed. “It’s fine, I believe you.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah, but just for insurance…” Daishou unlocked his phone and turned the screen to Hanamaki. There was a picture of the bottom of a foot with six concentric circles closing in on an upside down “y” on the heel.

 

“Yep, just like I thought, you look relieved.” Daishou pulled back his phone and put it in his pocket. “Not a match.”

 

“I’m sorry…”

 

“No, you aren’t, but that’s alright.” Daishou took a sip of tea and spoke over the cup. “So what now? Should we just hookup until we find other guys?”

 

If Hanamaki were drinking something, he’d sure as hell be choking on it right now. “What are you saying! Jesus, is everyone in Ueno this blunt?”

 

Daishou shrugged. “I’m just being practical. I mean you’re the only guy I’ve met so far at school who’s also into guys. What’s the harm in taking advantage of a, well, practical relationship until one of us meets someone closer to their type?”

 

Sure he’d been thinking something similar only hours before, but now that the situation was presented in front of him in such a concrete manner, Hanamaki was having definite second thoughts.

 

“That’s kind of cold, man.”

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Hanamaki looked up and immediately shuddered. Daishou had that calculating, venomous look in his eyes again, the same one that made Hanamaki feel like cornered game.

 

He nodded.

 

“If you didn’t want to see if we were soulmates and you don’t want to hook up, then why did you ask me out today?”

 

Hanamaki hesitated. Sure he wanted a distraction, maybe even wanted to get laid, but he couldn't picture it happening with Daishou. He couldn’t picture it with anyone. Maybe it was too late for all of that, trying to avoid his feelings. Maybe what he had to do was purge them.

 

_Ugh, but snake boy of all people?_

“I… I’m trying to get over someone.”

 

“Who, your roommate?”

 

All the air left Hanamaki’s lungs at once, but he was regaining his ability to keep his cool. “Pretty obvious, huh?”

 

“Well, he is the only guy you talk to—or only person in general. If he weren’t so obviously straight I would have assumed you guys were dating.”

 

“You think he’s straight?”

 

Daishou laughed. “You don’t? I mean, he has that vibe, or at least I think so. Like he’s definitely gotten gynecological with a girl.”

 

This time Hanamaki laughed, hard enough to surprise himself. “Oh my god, gynecological.”

 

“So surprised, Hanamaki. I can make jokes, you know.”

 

“It sucks, though,” Hanamaki whined, slumping down in the booth. “I’ve never liked someone this much before.”

 

“You’ll get over it.” Daishou shrugged, slinking into a relaxed position. “It might take a while, more than, say, a week—but you’ll get over it.”

 

“I have to see him every day though. And I still want to see him every day, I mean, he’s my best friend, but it sucks.”

 

“So, this is why you asked me out though? To complain about your unrequited boner?”

 

Hanamaki scrunched his face. “Nah, initially I thought maybe we could hook up as a distraction, but then the idea started to freak me out a little.”

 

“Yeah, I’m rapidly losing interest in that prospect myself.” Daishou stretched his arms behind his head and laid them on the top of the booth. “You should make it up to me, though.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I’ll let you whine about your feelings tonight and you’ll wingman for me some other night? That way this arrangement’s not a total loss.”

 

“Basically, I’m only a commodity for personal gain to you,” Hanamaki deadpanned, assessing the un-poised and outstretched man across from him.

 

“More or less, yeah.”

 

Surprised at himself again, Hanamaki laughed. “You really are a shitty guy.”

 

Daishou smiled the tight, closed eyed smile he often flashed at the TAs or professors. Maybe Hanamaki imagined it as some sort of hopeful projection, but it almost seemed slightly more genuine this time.

 

“I suppose you would see it that way, pal.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the dinner wasn’t all that terrible. The food was actually pretty good, and shockingly affordable. After the initial tension and awkwardness, Daishou seemed to relax enough into his natural state. He was still calculating and slightly irritating, but by the end of the night the two of them hadn’t slowed down once in the conversation.

 

It was most definitely not a match by any means, but now at least Hanamaki had a social outlet to vent to, like an ally of sorts.

 

When Hanamaki got back it wasn’t too late, the streets were still busy enough and most of the trains were still running, but he wondered what kind of situation would be waiting for him back in the room.

 

Best-case scenario, Matsukawa was asleep. That way he wouldn’t have to talk to him and also wouldn’t be off hooking up with any education department girls.

 

Worst-case scenario… was a long list of potential outcomes, almost all of which ended with Hanamaki ruining his friendship and pushing Matsukawa away from him forever. And one ending with a murder-suicide, because there’s always room for a murder-suicide in a worst-case scenario list.

 

At the door, Hanamaki braced himself. He turned the doorknob as slowly as he could, pushing the door smoothly to avoid creaking hinges. But before he opened the door halfway he could see the shadows cast from light on Matsukawa’s side of the room.

 

Not with a girl, but already off to a bad start.

 

“Ohoho, back already?” Matsukawa slurred.

 

Hanamaki stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind him in one smooth motion. “The date’s over, so, yeah, I’m back.”

 

“Huh,” Matsukawa scoffed. He took a swig from a suspicious looking water bottle and hissed after he swallowed. “Guess you and snake boy didn’t really hit it off.”

 

_Is… is he drunk? This wasn’t in the list._

 

“No. Not really. Thanks for your concern.”

 

“He’s not your type,” Matsukawa growled, standing up. “He’s ugly.”

 

“He’s not ugly,” Hanamaki snapped.

 

“Oh, so now you’re defending snake boy?” Matsukawa towered over him. “Maybe you should have stayed over with him, given him a chance.”

 

Hanamaki pushed him off. “Jesus, Mattsun, you’re drunk.”

 

“I am not.”

 

“That’s not Perrier in that bottle.”

 

“Oh, why’s it gotta be Perrier, because I’m a trust fund baby?”

 

Hanamaki sat down on his bed, covering his face with his hands. “No, because it’s a Perrier bottle! You got this shitfaced at a campus movie night?”

 

“I didn’t go.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

Matsukawa ignored him. “Did you have sex with him?”

 

Hanamaki’s head jolted up. “What? Where is this coming from?”

 

“Did you? Did you blow him? Did he blow you?”

 

“What the fuck, Mattsun? Why the fuck are you acting like this?”

 

Matsukawa leaned in toward him, maintaining enough of a distance for Hanamaki to see his body trembling. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

 

“I didn’t! I didn’t okay! Fuck!” Hanamaki threw himself back against the mattress and felt Matsukawa sit down on the mattress.

 

He struggled but he couldn’t read the atmosphere of the room. None of it made any sense, Matsukawa blowing off his friends and possibly the girl he likes to get plastered and wait for his roommate to get home so he can yell at him? It wasn’t like Matsukawa, or at least what Hanamaki knew of him. Matsukawa didn’t brood or bottle up and fuss over emotions.

 

There was a long, heavy silence between them before Matsukawa spoke. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“No,” Matsukawa pushed, “it’s not fine. I’m sorry I’m drunk.”

 

Hanamaki huffed. “Oh, so that’s what you’re sorry for?”

 

“No, no, Makki, come on.”

 

His voiced sounded strained and muffled. Hanamaki sat up. “Mattsun, what—“

 

Matsukawa cut him off, speaking from behind his hands. “Do you like him? Snake boy? Daish—whatever?”

 

“No.” Despite his better logic, Hanamaki took Matsukawa’s hands and pulled them away from his face and continued to hold them. “You know I don’t.”

 

“Then why’d you go out with him? We had plans, Makki. Why did you choose him? Don’t you… just… why him?”

 

Hanamaki tried to speak. He tried to think of anything to say other than admitting he needed a distraction. But instead his mouth opened and closed helplessly.

 

“Makki…” Matsukawa started, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He fixed his eyes on the carpet. “Do you like me?”

 

Hanamaki tightened his grip on Matsukawa’s hands. For the second time in hours, Hanamaki felt like he’d been tackled in the stomach.

 

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to deny everything and play this off like always. He wanted to jump out the window and run for Harujuku like his father suggested months before. He wanted to do anything other than sit there frozen like a half dead fish, but that was apparently all he could manage.

 

“Makki…” the voice was closer this time. Hanamaki focused his attention outside of his head and saw Matsukawa’s face impossibly close to his own. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He definitely couldn’t move.

 

Matsukawa’s hands were no longer in his. They ran through his hair, combing feather light patterns down his scalp to the base of his neck. His lips trembled. Matsukawa had never been this close. Hanamaki couldn’t see anything outside of his face.

 

“Yes,” he breathed, unsure at first if it was even audible. But he figured it must have been after Matsukawa’s lips were suddenly on his.

 

Everything after that happened in an instant. Hanamaki’s hands were knotted in Matsukawa’s hair. Matsukawa pushed Hanamaki down onto the mattress. Both of their shirts were gone.

 

Hanamaki couldn’t keep track of the events in succession. There was only Matsukawa. Matsukawa’s lips on his, Matsukawa’s teeth on his skin, Matsukawa’s taut back muscles underneath his nails. Matsukawa’s heavy panting, repeating only one word, “Makki,” over and over.

 

Matsukawa’s hands ran up and down the front of Hanamaki’s torso, dipping closer and closer to his waistband. Then the hands were gone and Hanamaki heard the distinct sound of a belt buckle coming undone.

 

“Mattsun—wait, what, what are you doing?”

 

Matsukawa looked down at him, his thoughts clearly hazed. “I, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

 

“We can’t have sex now,” Hanamaki sputtered.

 

“Why can’t we?”

 

_Yeah, why can’t we?_

“Because,” Hanamaki growled both to his horny inner demon and the sex god before him, “I don’t want to have sex when you’re drunk. That’s not right.”

 

Matsukawa laughed, his lips curling into that jaw-dropping lopsided smirk. “You’re right, you’re right.”

 

_UGH this is bullshit, utter bullshit._

 

With a huff, Matsukawa flopped down on to the bed next to Hanamaki, snaking his arms to pull Hanamaki flush against his chest. Quickly, his mouth returned to action placing hot, wet kisses down along the side of Hanamaki’s neck. His right hand lazily traced the divots of Hanamaki’s lower abs, while his left cradled his head, stroking the nape of his neck.

 

Slowly, the kisses lessened in intensity until they became nothing more than sporadic lazy pecks on Hanamaki’s forehead. It must have been at least 30 degrees in the room, and the added heat between them had to have raised it a few more, but Hanamaki needed to be closer to Matsukawa. He entwined their legs together and buried his face in the juncture between Matsukawa’s neck and shoulder. Everything was finally starting to sink in; the gravity of the situation crystalized. Matsukawa had crossed the line Hanamaki was so afraid of crossing.

 

“This is pretty nice too,” Matuskawa mused, his breath thick from alcohol.

 

Hanamaki listened to Matsukawa’s faint humming and felt both himself and the room fill up with a persistent softness. “So, you don’t like Mizudera?”

 

Matsukawa burst into laughter, too loud for the tenderness of the moment. “Now you remember her name, huh?”

 

“Well now I don't have a reason not to, so…”

 

“No, I do not like Mizudera. Yeah she’s cute and definitely my type, but I’ve only been into you since we got here.”

 

Hanamaki angled his head up to get a better view of Matsukawa. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked guys when I told you I was gay?”

 

“I didn’t know if it was the right time, plus you told me you didn’t like anyone, so I didn’t want you to think I was just hitting on you ‘cause you’re gay, you know?” He kissed Hanamaki’s forehead. “Plus telling someone you’re bi is a little awkward sometimes, and I didn’t want to turn the situation around to be about me. Does that make sense?”

 

_HE’S BI I FUCKING KNEW IT I FUCKING KNEW IT YOU PIECE OF SHIT_

 

“I guess, just let me drown in more agony. Whatever,” Hanamaki grumbled, turning back into Matsukawa’s chest.

 

Matsukawa laughed, wrapping his arms around Hanamaki. “You could have told me you were into me then, you know.”

 

“And risk you saying ‘thanks, but no thanks’ and ruining our friendship? Yeah, right.”

 

“Aw, Makki, you value me for more than my body, I’m touched.”

 

Hanamaki snorted and bit Matsukawa’s shoulder playfully, if only to mask his giddiness. “I _used_ to, now it’s all carnal attraction all the time, my dear.”

 

“Oho, I cannot wait.”

 

_Okay fine, this is the best-case scenario_


End file.
